


Anything You Want, Kitten

by RogerTaylorCanRawMe



Series: Queen One-Shots [6]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingering, Fucking over a drum kit, Pet Names, Punishment, Spanking, Spanking but with drumsticks, Strip Tease, Stripping to Bruce Springsteen, daddy!Roger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerTaylorCanRawMe/pseuds/RogerTaylorCanRawMe
Summary: After distracting Roger during a particularly rough day at the studio, he decides you need to be punished... with a set of drumsticks.





	Anything You Want, Kitten

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, can I has?

It had been a long, tense day in the studio. Between arguments, you did your best to distract him. To no avail. He just ignored it, getting back into another spat over which lyrics Freddie should sing, or the fact that Deacy was hell bent on having them play disco. By the end of the session, Roger was weary and in no mood to embark on the drive home just yet. So you and Roger had stuck around. Huddled together in an exhausted heap on a plush, leather sofa. Roger lazily played with your hair, draining a bottle of beer. He was uncharacteristically quiet. In every other instance, he would've been ranting and raving at you, venting his frustrations. But there was none of that.

You lay there, listening to his heart beating quickly, cooking up a plan to take his mind off of the day.

You shifted off the sofa, to wander around the studio space for inspiration. During the day, this room was bustling, thrumming with a nervous energy that would come to a head with even the slightest wrong look or a bit of push back. But tonight, it was calm. You could hear the rain outside, beating down on the roof and Roger’s slow, quiet breaths. In the corner of the room was a record player. The band kept a small collection of records for entertainment between takes. It grabbed your attention.

Roger watched every single move you made from behind his sunglasses. He sat back, lighting a cigarette.

You wandered over to it and searched through the box of records next to it. It had everything from AC/DC to Fleetwood Mac. Somewhere, right at the back, you found a copy of ‘Born To Run.’ There was no question, this was the album you were looking for. Dropping the needle on ‘Thunder Road,’ you moved to the centre of the room, eyeing Roger who was still sprawled on the sofa. His eyes were half closed, half asleep.

You cleared your throat, eager for his attention. Unsure if he was focusing on you, you danced slowly, undoing each button of your shirt, and throwing it to the ground.

Roger raised his eyebrow, leaning forward. “Are you trying to tease me, kitten?”

You shrugged your shoulders, tugging down your skirt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Daddy, I’m just dancing.” Now, only wearing your underwear, you moved towards the drum kit at the back of the room.

Roger finally stood up, going towards the record player, cutting short the last few bars of ‘Night.’ Then he watched as you sat down behind his drum kit.

“No music?” You pouted. You had no idea how to play the drums, but you still picked up a pair of sticks. “Well, I’m just going to have to play these then. Just to annoy you,” you taunted, rattling away.

Roger laughed to himself and slipped off his glasses. When he made his way towards you, rolling up his sleeves, you knew you were done for.

Your noise making ceased, feeling your cheeks burning.

“Stand up, Kitten,” Roger ordered. He moved behind you, taking his seat and the sticks from your hands. He snapped the waistband of your underwear against your skin. “Lose these.”

You turned around to face him, mouth open to give him some back-chat.

He was having none of it. He flashed you a stern look, urging you not to challenge him.

You had no sooner shuffled your panties into a pool on the floor, but Roger's hand trailed up your thigh. Higher still, you spread your legs for him as his fingers explored your folds. “I think someone likes putting on a show for me, being a dirty girl,” he whispered, looking up at you. “Do you, Kitten?”

You put up no resistance when his fingers slipped inside you. The feeling of him slowly, tortuously fucking you with his fingers hand you leaning on his drums for support as you moaned a laboured, “yes, Daddy.”

“I think you’ve been very naughty,” he began, biting his lip. “Not just now, but all day, haven’t you?”

“I just wanted you so much.”

“I think you need a little punishment before you can have me.”

Those words sent a shiver through you. You managed to choke out two words: “Like what?”

Roger removed his glistening fingers from you. “Over my lap,” he instructed.

You did as Roger said. He kept you in place with one arm around your waist, his cock pressing into your side. You knew what was coming next. Your mouth had gone dry as you tried to focus on the glowing red exit sign above the door in front of you, while Roger stroked your soft, sensitive behind.

He admired it for a moment, leaving you wondering how long it would take him to cut to the chase.

Then two drumsticks together whacked against your skin. Not enough to hurt yet. This was only a warm up after all. But it was enough to make you grasp at the edges of the mat underneath the drum kit in anticipation.

“That ok?” Roger asked, rubbing the point he had struck.

“That was fine,” you said.

“Ok,” he said, slapping the sticks down more harshly. Speeding up enough to make you squirm.

It stung, and it was only getting worse. With every crack, the exit sign grew blurrier. Small yelps escaped your lips as the heat became more and more pronounced.

“This’ll teach you not to distract me, Princess. What are you not going to do tomorrow?” Roger growled.

“I promise I won’t distract you, Daddy!” You wailed, dancing away on Roger’s lap. “Oh god, it hurts!”

Hearing you bemoan the punishment he was doling out to you, Roger stopped. His grip on your waist loosened. You could feel your wetness on your thighs; it jarred with the white-hot strips that Roger had lashed into your bottom and the backs of your legs.

He gently rubbed your skin, testing the damage he had done. Then his fingers dripped lower towards your cunt. The sensation made you shiver. His touch was only fleeting. Not enough to give you any real satisfaction before he was back at it. Another open-handed smack on your tender flesh. Another quiet whimper from you. “Can you take another couple of smacks?” Roger asked.

“Maybe,” you sniffled.

“I don’t think you’re sorry yet,” he continued, massaging your bottom. “But if you take, say, ten more, I’ll give you a big treat.”

“What kind of treat?” you pouted, rubbing your thighs together under his touch.

Again, his fingers returned to your pussy, eliciting another desperate mewl from you. He ran his thumb up and down your folds, gently brushing against your clit. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

By this point, you had grown so impatient that you would have done anything for Roger to finish you off. You agreed: “ten more.”

Roger spanked you again with his hand, making you twitch. “And it won’t happen again.”

“Nine more and it won’t happen again. I promise.”

“That one doesn’t count.” He said, picking up just one drumstick this time. “Count with me.”

Nothing made you feel more petulant or remorseful that being made to count out how many times Roger struck you when he punished you like this. You were a mess by the time you reached the end. When it was over, Roger leaned down, delicately kissing the marks he had made on you. “You’re such a good girl. No tears or anything. I’m so proud,” he purred. “Time for your reward. Can you stand, kitten?”

You rolled off his lap, heading straight for the floor. He grabbed you right before you fell down. Then he hauled you on to your feet, your legs feeling like they might give way. “I think so.” With your back to Roger, you leaned over the drum kit for support. “I’m ok,” you sighed.

“Ok, Kitten, I’ll tell you what. Lean over a little bit more and hold on tight,” Roger whispered, shuffling you into just the right position and settling between your thighs. “That’s it, good girl. Let me take care of you.”

When Roger’s tongue brushed against your folds, you were already wound so tight that your legs shook from just that contact alone. You pressed yourself into him, sinking your teeth into your arm to stop your desperate, feverish whining. You were a mess.

On the flip side, Roger was utterly calm, savouring everything. Your scent. The way you tasted. The feeling of you rolling your hips to meet his mouth. He was firm and purposeful, working his tongue over your clit.

The pressure inside you built with every stroke, making your gasp and cling to anything you could find to keep you on your feet. With your head beginning to spin, you needed a reprieve. “Please fuck me,” you whined. “Daddy please.”

You could hear him chuckle behind you as he stopped eating you out. You felt him get up from his stool. And then his zipper lowering. The next thing you knew, he was leaning over you, his lips pressed to your ear. “Anything you want, Kitten.”


End file.
